


More Than Words Can Say

by NocturnalLament



Category: South Park
Genre: Eric Cartman - Freeform, Fluff, Grand Gestures, Kyle Broflovski - Freeform, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, Requested, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, birthday gift, kofukune, weight loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NocturnalLament/pseuds/NocturnalLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyman fluff fest. Birthday request for Kofukune. <br/>After an innocent slip of the tongue, Kyle can't help but wonder if he'd put their relationship in jeopardy. After a summer of strange behavior and evasiveness from Cartman, Kyle wants answers... but the truth is something he never had expected.<br/>(From the author of Nothing to Lose. Contains some swearing. One shot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Words Can Say

**A.N. Hello everyone, I bring you another Kyman Fanfiction. I've never been overly fussed with the idea of a skinny Cartman, but when Kofu shared this request with me I just had to write it! This is mostly a bit of fluff, so I hope you find it enjoyable. This was a birthday present for the super cool _Kofukune,_ and I hope it loves up to everything you hoped for. Happy birthday! To be honest this was a little outside my comfort zone and I'm not sure how it came out so please leave me some feedback, it makes my day and helps me improve my writing.**

* * *

 

 

' _i cant, absolutely exhausted. sorry'_

Exhausted?  _Exhausted_?

Surely he can come up with a better excuse than that. After all we've been through he at least owes me that much. At first I thought it was his health, but with how blatantly distant he'd become it'd soon become pretty damn clear exactly how  _exhausted_  he'd been. I fight the temptation to hurl my phone at the wall, but my mother already has me effectively on probation due to my recent irritability and 'poor attitude'. If I followed through with the urge I'd probably be barred in my room for the rest of a summer before I could bat an eye. Hell, if she knew the reason behind all of this I'd probably be sent away to stay with the Rabbi faster than you can say 'homophobe'.

I don't want to break my phone. No matter how elusive he'd become, the knowledge that I can reach him is a comfort I'm not willing to sacrifice no matter what. Despite what he puts me through, I can't imagine not loving him – not after all these years of pining and self-loathing on his behalf – and I'd thought he'd felt the same.

…But apparently not.

I bury my head in my pillow, growling out my frustrations into the silken fabric. The downy softness combined with the subdued yelling is comforting on a subconsciously primal level, and after a few more frustrated groans and colourful words I'm soothed enough to give a coherent reply without taking out my aggression on him or desperately begging him to just be  _normal_  again.

' _K'_

I pause before elaborating, the knowledge that this is to a degree my fault driving me to at least make an effort to reach out.

' _I miss you.'_

It takes another ten minutes before I get my response.

' _u too'_

I get that awful ache again, heartburn and nausea and constricted lungs all in one. My stomach knots violently as my heart simultaneously beats so vigorously that I fear it'll crack my ribs despite the fact it seems to have stopped mid-lurch within the depths of my chest.  _Fuck_. I'm in too deep and I can't bear the bittersweet sting of the dreadful unnamed feelings he stirs in me.

If he was going to go and do this he should have never made me fall for him in the first place. It hurts too much. In spite of myself I crave him like I need air to breathe, and in these few weeks it's been since I've had legitimate contact with him it feels as if I'm drifting further and further out into the sea. The harsh saline liquid seemingly floods my lungs, drowning in my deprivation and refusing me a dulcet kiss of the crisp August air.

Restricting myself mostly to the confines of the house over the course of the summer I'd had plenty of time to dwell and watch grisly low budget documentaries, and it didn't take much to come to the conclusion that something isn't exactly right with me. He's a fucking addiction, the centre of my fragile universe, the perfect constant in a world of dreadful variables. His touch and his scent stain my skin, my mind- he haunts me like a plague, omnipresent in my thoughts. Every minute more I spend away from him burns like potent acid, and I can't help but desperately yearn for a taste of him. I'm like a junkie without a hit, a desperate alcoholic whose mouth waters at the trace of another's whiskey breath. I can't focus, I can't sleep. I can't bear to leave the house. My chest constricts at the thought of what I'm missing, heart palpating and breaths laboured. I've seen the drug addicts on television, the meth heads in Kenny's part of the neighbourhood, Tweek after an hour or so without coffee… and for the first time in my life, if feel as if I can relate. It can't be healthy.

I shared my concerns with Ike, afraid for my wellbeing. 'You can't be serious' he'd laughed, shaking his head in fond disbelief. 'You know you're in love, right?'

On a deep level inside of me, I wasn't really surprised – sure, I was confused about who the feelings were directed to and the fact that they'd stuck with me so strongly despite our sudden lack of contact – but the alien nature of these powerful feelings and how easily they'd overcome me was pretty frightening.

I'd wanted to complain, insist it was merely a passing infatuation, but I knew full well I'd be lying. This was my fault… this whole thing was my fault.

I shouldn't have said what I did. I didn't think it could upset him so much, but it doesn't excuse it.

It's so unlike him to let his ego be dented so easily. It was an honest mistake, and he'd never let my comments get to him before. Then again, if someone had told me a year ago that we'd end up together; I wouldn't have believed them either.

There's a lot more to him that others don't get to see, and I guess I'd struck a chord.

…

We'd been dating solidly for four months, but I know full well that the both of us had wanted it for much longer beforehand. Several months before I'd noticed the sinful attraction I had for him, but over time it grew from sordid longing and lewd lucid dreams into daytime fantasies of hand holding and the whispering of sweet nothings and  _'I love you_ 's. I'd felt awful as I told him, but after hearing his response I felt terribly guilty for another reason entirely – he'd loved me for years, and the worst part is that deep down on some level I'd always seen it… I just didn't connect the dots, draw the conclusive lines.

It was incredible. After so much suppressed emotion and concealed affection, to finally be able to express ourselves knowing it was fully reciprocated was pure bliss. Every moment we could we'd spend at the others side, stealing every minute we could from the day. I'd finally felt like a real teenager at last, spending our lunch hours creeping through the halls, enjoying intense make out sessions in the bathroom stalls and sneaking out in the dead of night to meet at Stark's Pond, lying under the stars with our fingers intertwined. He made me feel giddy in the most amazing way, the feelings I'd had before magnified in light of his own as we fed off of our violent attraction for each other; my longing fuelled by his own. When we were together it was our own little slice of heaven, and the moments apart felt endless and dreary in comparison. Despite technically being in a relationship the person I love and spending time with my family, it feels like the loneliest summer I've ever experienced. I want to confront him, demand to know why he'd become so elusive and preoccupied.

Surely he couldn't be cheating or anything… he was quick to come out in order to 'stake a claim on his Jew', letting others know full well that any funny business regarding me would end someone up in the hospital. The people here knew he was taken, and I don't even  _know_  anyone else that is gay while still being a reasonable age for Cartman to date. After all, he'd gone all these years unable to pursue romance because of his self-confessed infatuation with me, once he'd finally gotten me it would be crazy to just throw it away. He's a man that knows what he wants.

After all, he'd sworn he'd do anything for my happiness. Sure, I may have accidentally hurt him, but it was just a few words… he must be able to tell how much he is effecting me by separating himself like this. He could at least have the courtesy to explain that he felt we needed time apart rather than making up endless excuses to avoid seeing me. I've known him all my life, and he's not the type to become so suddenly and intensely involved in something to the point it takes up practically every moment of every day. What on earth is he thinking? I'd assume it was one of his schemes, but he wouldn't sacrifice what we have just for a new idea to manipulate the masses or to make a little money on the side.

I can't help but feel I'm missing something significant. The old Cartman would never go this far out of this way for anything, but then again I'd always assumed the old Cartman couldn't cook to save his life and that he didn't have a romantic bone in his body. I'm always learning something new with him, and perhaps this is just something I hadn't experienced yet. Sure, I'd made a few offhanded quips about his weight, but he shot his insults right back; not fazed in the slightest. What was so different this time? I mean, the other comments were hardly heartfelt, but I can tell this was different. I'd meant what I said and he picked up on it, but he must have taken me a little too seriously. I hadn't lied, but it's not as if it really affects me all that much. I'm with Eric because I love him, and nothing can change that. The fact he is unconventionally attractive yet somehow still completely breathtaking is merely an added bonus.

We'd been eating lunch in the cafeteria as usual, sat in our standard configuration. It was pretty much the same scene it'd been since elementary school during our lunch periods, except instead of strangling each other we were playing a rather vigorous game of 'footsies' under the table. I was so captivated in the dazzling chocolate and hazelnut light of his affectionate gaze that I'd lost track of the conversation. Kenny had caught my attention amidst snickers from the others regarding the fact we'd looked like 'love struck girls' - which was half true anyway, so fuck them. Unsurprisingly for a Kenny-driven conversation, the topic had drifted into our sexual preferences. I tend to try and avoid these topics, but he seemed particularly driven to find out what I find attractive in a guy, considering his tastes were mostly limited to the fairer sex. He'd questioned Eric, but he'd just gestured in my direction and refused to elaborate so he'd grown bored pretty quick, turning his interrogation over to my direction.

"Just look at Cartman here." He'd insisted, despite the fact I already had been. "What comes to mind when you do? What do you find most attractive about him?"

I took a moment to ponder over his appearance before answering carefully – not because I didn't find him hot, but because I feared if I didn't contain myself I'd end up waning rhapsodic about the wonders of his cock, or accidentally sharing my penchant for digging my nails into the enticing broadness of his shoulders while he pushes into me – hard and wild, just the way I like it. The mere thought had already had me going, and I concentrated my efforts to prevent myself from gushing about matters that are best left private.

"I like… his shoulders. They're thick and broad and  _incredibly_  masculine. He's surprisingly defined up there, and the layer of muscle underneath can be felt much more easily. I always found them pretty hot." I'd reached the point where it was impossible to contain my blush, and I had diverted my eyes from Eric's expectant gaze. "His face is good too, his jawline is a really good shape and his eyes are gorgeous. I love all of the little browns and golds in his irises. No matter how much I stare into them, I don't think I'll ever be able to count all the different tones and shades that add up to such an awe-inspiring colour… and I guess it's a bit odd but his thighs are really enjoyable to grab. They're soft but firm somehow, and there's something about the feel of them in my hands that's really satisfying."

"You're right, that is pretty weird." Kenny smirked, amused by the blinding scarlet staining my cheeks. "I'm sure he could crush you under one of his colossal thighs… or is that what you like, Kyle? Considering your apparent taste in men I think it's safe for us to assume you're a chubby chaser. You like a bit of the good old belly rolls?"

Eric kicked him under the table playfully, but his smile fell from his face as I responded to the allegations, replying without thinking over my words.

"Not really, fat is pretty much a turn off for me."

I didn't really register what I'd said until his face fell, and once I had I immediately regretted it. It was a bit of an exaggeration. It wasn't as if I  _couldn't_  be attracted it him because of his physique, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I was worried for his health… and that he'd honestly be more attractive if he shed a few pounds.

There was a regnant silence for a few moments, the air suddenly awkward until Kenny tried to break the sudden tension.

"That sucks dude. Cartman has more pounds than the bank of England… I guess no-one is ever perfect though."

"Eric, you know I didn't mean-" I started, but he held his hand up to stop me, not wanting to hear it.

"It's  _fine_ , Kyle. I'd feel the same if I was you too."

"Please don't get the wrong idea; it's not really a bid deal to me…"

"No, Kyle I told you it's  _ **fine,"**_ he stressed, composing himself before he murmured under his breath - unclear whether he was addressing me or himself. "It's okay. It's my fault, not yours."

We sat in abated silence, some of the previous tension hanging unspoken in the air. Eric had ceased our game under the table, sitting quietly with a contemplative look on his rounded face. I toyed with the idea of initiating another foot war, but he seemed to be deliberating so intensely that I worried he'd be cross if I'd roused him. Not wanting to upset him further I diverted my gaze, focusing on my meal.

It was only once we'd risen to leave did I notice that he'd barely touched his chicken at all, opting to stare at it longingly before discarding it on the trash.

 

* * *

 

 

Three days. School restarted in three days. My stomach swirled with nerves, but the concern was hardly based on academics.

Three more days. Once we're in school he can't avoid me then.

I'm mostly excited, but the whole situation leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. He wouldn't just act like this for no reason, and I want information. Sure, it may be difficult to get the truth from him but I'm determined to get answers… I'm just afraid it'll widen the rift growing between us when I do.

I play idly with the phone in my hands, considering what to say. I can't exactly text him asking what the fuck he is doing, but dancing around the issue can't really help either, right? This is Eric I'm talking about – a little boldness is always necessary. I guess I'm also afraid of what he'd say. What if he doesn't want me anymore? Had he found someone else? A new hobby he prefers over both getting on my nerves and blowing my mind with even the simplest touch? Will he think I'm pathetic for missing him, for needing him the way I do?

But most of all, I regret. I regret my hurtful words; I regret not getting my fill of him while I had the chance. Most of all, I regret not being fully honest with him – not telling him exactly how I feel. The four letter word had seemed so big, so daunting to the both of us regardless of our actual feelings toward each other.

I wish I'd told him I loved him, back when I was certain there was a chance he'd felt the same. I was too much of a coward then, and too much of a coward now. I just need a sign – something to show me exactly how he feels. I need to love him, to trust him completely, but I'm not quite all of the way there yet.

There's still this nagging in the back of my head, the constant ' _what if'_  lingering like a foul odour.

I turn on my phone, procrastinating by checking my Tumblr until I feel mentally prepared enough to send him a message.

I go to open my messaging app, but it vibrates in my hands before I can select the option. The signature sound of an incoming text makes me jump slightly, unprepared for anyone to try and contact me. Stan was supposed to be on holiday before the term starts – he wouldn't exactly be texting me from Portugal. Kenny ran out of credit and can't afford any more until he is paid a few weeks from now… I can only think of one person that would text me out of the blue like this on a Sunday.

I open my messages, and sure enough the name of the sender causes my stomach to knot, heart fluttering in my chest.

_1 New Message – Eric Cartman_

I select the notice, opening up our text log. Sure enough, he'd beat me to it.

' _im coming over'_

What? I read the short message again, the words failing to sink in.

' _im coming over'_

What on earth does that even mean? After ages of not seeing him he's going to just _turn up out of the blue?_  Do I have time to get ready, or will he be here any minute? I'm hardly even decent!

God, he's  _impossible._

I run my fingers through my hair in frustration, pacing for a few moments before stopping in front of my mirror. I at least want to look  _somewhat_  respectable. My hair had settled in its usual rugged style, soft fiery curls in a disordered mess. While they were still shorter than they had been when I was younger, they'd grown out over the summer and had become even harder to tame than before. Thankfully luck seems to be somewhat on my side today however, as they had settled in a fortunately presentable style… bordering on attractive, if I do say so myself. I grab a pair of jeans from my drawer, navy blue and rather tight. They're not exactly what Eric calls 'saran wrap trousers' but they accent the curve of my ass to a respectable degree, and considering that my ass is one of his favourite assets I figure its a safe bet he won't be complaining. With the addition of a simple but flattering button up shirt I'm satisfied that he will be able to see exactly what he'd been missing. It might seem a little petty, but considering how he'd adopted this strange avoidance tactic it feels perfectly justified.

All's fair in love and war, as they say.

It's a good thing I was pretty much dressed, as the loud pealing of the doorbell causes me to jump out of my skin, bringing me back to my senses. The knowledge of who is waiting for me on the other side of the door has my pulse racing, the familiar fluttering in my abdomen and the dreadful flush that finds its way to my cheeks has me mentally scalding myself.

_You're acting like a lovesick girl. You shouldn't even be happy to see him after all the shit that's been going on. Get a hold of yourself._

Despite trying to stay calm and rational I dart downstairs, feet barely touching the steps as I rush to the door. I cross the landing in seconds before hesitating at the door, giving myself time to catch my breath. What do I say to him? No matter how excited I am to see him I need to reign myself in, make sure he knows I'm irritated at him. Ready to give him a piece of my mind, I open the door to have the words stop dead in there tracks, an odd choked sound in my throat.

_Holy fucking shit._

"Hey." he calls nonchalantly, suave as ever. His smirk has me torn between punching him in the face and kissing him so hard neither of us could ever hope to breathe again.

He's wearing a new shirt, but what lies under the uncharacteristically tight fabric has me struck for words. In my surprise I'd adopted a gobsmacked expression, his smug grin fading a little as he becomes visibly nervous.

"Well… I'm hardly the next top model or anything but it's a start, right?"

I don't know what else to say but-

" _Holy shit Eric."_

Sure, the characteristic layer to fat still clung to his body, but if I didn't know any better I'd question if it was the same Cartman. There was still traces of chub here and there, but he looked much more toned,  _buff_  even. I can't resist reaching out, grasping onto his biceps and feeling pronounced muscle under my fingers. I give the firm flesh a squeeze, blood rushing to my face at the unmistakable feeling of palpable  _strength._ His broad chest fills the fabric nicely, but he'd lost a sizeable proportion of the fat that had contributed to the bulk. My hands trail along his arms, finding their way down to his chest. There is little give at the centre, and I feel the speedy thrum of his heart against my hands.

Helpless in my fixation, I slip my arms around him. My hands link easily behind him as I rest my head against his torso, listening to the reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat and savouring the warmth of his body heat against my own. It had been too long since I'd held him, and this meagre physical connection is almost enough to drive me crazy. After all these weeks, I just want to get my fill of him, to hold him and never let go. I'd honestly thought he was fine the way he was, but I can't deny how incredibly attractive he looks.  _Before_  he was hot, now he's so unbearably gorgeous I find myself weak at the knees. Damn, the girls at school are going to be almost as fixated as I am, unable to tear their eyes away. Realistically he could loose more weight, but Eric is  _my_ fatass, and it wouldn't be quite right if he was as thin as all the other guys... I like to have something substantial to hold, someone big enough to be my own private pillow, to make me feel safe and protected in their arms.

"You… you did this for  _me?"_ I whisper, touched more than I can coherently say. My eyes meet his and he smiles reassuringly, his hand finding my cheek, caressing the skin lovingly.

"It wasn't  _that_  big of a deal. The worst part was going without KFC, I swear I went into full-on withdrawal. Apart from that I adjusted pretty well… I actually quite enjoyed the working out, I always knew I was strong but you should see me lift! I bet I could beat up  _any_  asshole that tries to make fun of us now. I'm practically the hulk compared to most of those scrawny pricks."

"You didn't need to do this. I never meant-" I start, but he puts his finger to my lips, hushing me.

"Kyle, it's fine. Hell, it was worth it a thousand times over just to see you smile at me like that. I'm seriously. As long as you're happy I am, so don't rain on the parade okay?"

"Oh man, I feel like such a douche." I mutter, burying my head into the tempting warmth of his chest. "I thought you were pretending to be tired to avoid me. I honestly was planning on yelling at you once I opened that door."

He chuckles at my honesty, drawing back and lifting my chin so he can peck at my lips. The gentle kisses send a shiver across my skin; the moist, rough surface of his lips leaving me craving more. My hands wrap around his neck, pulling him in closer so I can hungrily mouth at those delicious lips I'd been dreaming of for so long. He deepens the kiss in turn, and I feel so light that I fear I might float away, held down only by the soft hand resting upon my hip.

Our mouths part, and I nip playfully at his bottom lip before he murmurs against my own, his hot humid breath causing my hairs to stand on end.

"God, I missed you."

"I missed you too." I respond, heart swelling with emotions that threaten to overflow. "I felt so awful, I thought I'd hurt you. I regretted it so much, spent so long thinking of things I should have said."

"Don't you  _dare_  feel bad. I'll beat you up, I'm not even joking. You think I couldn't?"

He flexes his arms, and I can't help but laugh along with him at the preposterous gesture, subconsciously tightening my hold on him and drawing him closer.

"I'm okay now," I insist. "More than okay."

"Good. Then I'm to assume you're up for watching Fight Club with me?"

"That's one of my favourites! How did you know?"

"You told me. It was a while ago now. I picked up the DVD on the way here. What do you say?"

"Sounds wonderful." I smile, my hand finding his own, fingers weaving together. I rest my forehead against his, noses bumping together before he pulls back, getting the disc from his bag before his hand snakes around my waist once more – unwilling to be apart from me for to long. He begins to head for the stairs, but I instinctively grasp at his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait."

"What?" he questions, voice a little concerned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I insist, shaking my head slightly. "I need to tell you something."

He raises his eyebrow inquisitively, intrigued by my sudden outburst. I take a few deep breaths, biting my lip subconsciously before trying to vocalize my thoughts.

It might be a nerve racking step, but I'd regret if more if it was one I didn't take.

"Eric, I..." I begin, cheeks blazing a brighter scarlet than my hair. "I love you."

His eyes widen at my admission, grin slowly growing on his face until he is positively beaming, his wide smile brightening up the room. His eyes dance with a captivating cinnamon sparkle, irises shimmering in joy.

"I love you too. More than I can say, Kyle."

And with that, he pulls me into another searing kiss.


End file.
